Messin' With their Heads
by binkeybella
Summary: Tony helps his fan fiction writer girlfriend by taking care of an unexpected problem. McGee is in this story, but his name is not in the character credit. Anywhere. So don't blame me if you read it wrong and think that TIMMY is NOT in this story. It is also listed as a Parody. As in, Parody. Humor. Mimicry. Burlesque. Joke.
1. Chapter 1

_**Contrary to popular opinion among the powers that be, the ones who rule fanfic – you know, shipper teenagers – I do really like McGee, and the actor who plays him, just not how the show writers write him. So it sort of hurt my heart to write this, but, it had to be done. Because the powers that be told me I HAD to, and I ALWAYS do what I'm told. Always. Just like Tony.**_

It was a wonderful funeral, with eulogies given by the likes of Director Vance all the way to the Secretary of the Navy. The casket was closed, and covered in a vast array of flowers, enough to keep Tony DiNozzo sneezing for the next month. He himself had not offered a eulogy for his friend Tim McGee, and everyone understood, with him being so broken up over the unexpected and tragically violent – but heroic – death of his Probie. He needed time alone, time on a long expanse of sugar-sand beach, and the powers that be had granted him the bereavement time, for him to recover and adjust.

Stepping off the plane in Barbados, he slipped on his Ray Bans and took in deep breaths of the island air. His Hawaiian flowerdy Magnum shirt, which the boss had bought and given to him the morning he left, fluttered in the ocean breeze, and he felt an unfamiliar draft travel up his shorts and give him a chill. The ghost of McGee, perhaps? Had he followed him here? Well, fine, whatever, but Tony sure as hell wasn't paying the guy's hotel bill or bar tab. He took a cab to the small but opulent waterfront hotel, checked in and grabbed his key, and made his way to his room. Unpacking his bags, he smiled as he saw the note written in copperplate cursive on the dresser top. It was held down with a Godiva cherry cordial.

"_Couldn't wait to hit the beach, Julio will show you where I am."_

He smiled and ate the syrupy chocolate candy, then stashed the rest of his clothes and headed out the sliding glass doors to the beach. Julio met him, immediately attentive to the needs of the hotel guests, and led him to her beach chair, a double size with white canopy and cushions. She looked up at him and smiled, her scantily clad skin already tanned from the day spent on the beach ahead of him. Putting her computer aside, she patted the seat next to him and he cast his sinuous frame into it, closing his eyes with a long sigh at the feel of the hot sun and smell of her perfume. Eternity by Calvin Klein. He thought he might buy her an entire box of it.

"So did you do it?" she asked him calmly, quietly.

"_Oh _yeah. No one suspects a thing. Vance gave me an entire week off to 'grieve'."

"Sweet. So, give me a kiss, then tell me all about it."

He leaned over and drew her into his arms, and sighed again at the exquisite silk and roundness that was a woman. She had been Gibbs' gardener, and had even had a thing for him, but learned rather quickly her chances of having a relationship with him was next to nil. She wasn't a red head, for one, and his emotional baggage was just too much to handle. Then Tony had been emboldened to ask her out, and how could she say no to those green eyes and that flashy smile? When he asked her what she did to relax, she had hesitated to tell him. How did she explain writing fan fiction? It wasn't something she talked about to anyone, not even her own family. But he had seemed genuinely interested; after all, he was crazy for movies and t.v , so he totally 'got it'. He even came up with 'plot bunnies' for her, and goofy challenges and they spent a lot of quality time talking about the different genres and tropes and ships and when they got a buzz on from too much wine, they would write one-shots involving the team, just like McGee had done with his 'Deep Six' books but continually denied until one day he couldn't.

But he'd come home from work one day to find her beside herself, mumbling unintelligibly in between cursing the keyboard, He had never seen her so out of sorts, and whatever it was, he knew he had to help fix it. Pulling her up into his strong arms, he peered down into her blue eyes.

"_Tell me. Tell me whatever it is and I'll make it happen."_  
_  
"I -I – can't write about TIMMY anymore. I – I wrote that one-shot where I had you trying to commiserate with him about his tyranical, demanding father, and – and I was told to – to -" the rest of the sentence came out in a whisper. "Do everyone a favor and not write any more stories with McGee'. And that I had focused too much on you. Even though I did have your name first in the character credit. And that why would I write about you when it was clearly about Tim, because obviously I hadn't put your name anywhere in the character credit. That I clearly disliked both Gibbs and McGee, and probably your father, and Tim's father, and every other man on the face of the planet, including George Clooney, so why was I even writing about them? Because, yes, I know that they are perfect in every way, that it was Gibbs' wives fault that he was divorced three times, and very obviously __**your **__fault that TIMMY hasn't become Assistant Director at the Agency yet." She took a shaky, ragged breath and looked up at him, still not used to the difference of over a foot in their height. "It just means one thing, Tonio."_

"I know, Sunny. And I'll do everything in my power to make it happen."

"Really? You'd really do that for me?"

"Of _**course **__I would, sweetheart. I can't let those Taylor Swift-Justin Beiber-Tim McGee teeny boppers try to run you out of fanfic. I mean, I just looked at the reviews last night, and frankly, most of the ones on there who are writing – erm..urghh..ehhh...uhhf..." he had to swallow, trying to keep the bile down out of his throat - "errr...Tee -mmmm - t-t-teeve -"_

"That's alright, sweetie," she patted his shoulder lovingly. "I know what you're trying to say and how difficult it is for you to say it. Just call it the 'ship that must not be named' from now on."

"Yeah, so, anyways that – particular ship and McAbby ones, well, most of them didn't have anywhere near the number of reviews you had, I mean, sure, some of your reviews were from the trolls who obviously are so full of themselves that they think they can dictate to other writers who they can and can't write about because you're not portraying their favorite character in a perfect light, even though you've written _**all **__of us, including ABBY of all people, __**and **__me, with unflattering character flaws that none of us actually do have, by the way – we're a perfect, non-dysfunctional team and family, who poop rainbows and braid each other's hair on the weekends – but I digress – what I'm trying to say, is that even not counting those reviews, although, in a way they're kind of nice, cause other readers will see the big fat number and say, 'Hmmm. That story got a __**lot **__of reviews, maybe I should read that, or some of the author's __**other **__stories, cause I don't really like TIMMY that much – just head slap me, sweetie, I'm not focusing very well -anyways, they're saying to themselves, 'look at all those reviews.' And then maybe they even read them and maybe they can't read your stories for a while cause they're too busy choking on the bullshit being ladled out in the form of a constructive review...but when they __**do **__stop choking, they'll probably read your other stories, cause just like bad celebs trying to be relevant again, any publicity is good publicity."_

_"Mmmm, maybe. But no one has the right to tell another author they can't write about a character because they don't make them a hero, or make them into something they're really not-this is freaking __**fan fiction, **__I don't go to __**their **__sandbox and tell them to quit writing unflattering Tony stories."_

"They write unflattering Tony DiNozzo stories? Really? I mean, more unflattering than you've written about me, about being a doormat and Gibbs's punching bag and all that stuff? Like...worse than that?"

"Probably. But I don't know, cause I've never actually _**read **__any of them. And I'm certainly not going to start now."_

"Well, that settles it, then, there's only one thing to do. If you're not allowed to write about McGee anymore, then he'll just be a temptation you can't resist, you know how you are when someone tells you you can't do something. So I'll take care of it. I have some ideas already, but maybe you should take some of my mother's trust fund and go south for a while, and I'll meet you down there when I'm done, you know, plausible deniability and all that.."

"Mmmmm, that sounds yummy. You, me, on the beach, you just in your shorts, your chest andlegs all bare and waiting for me to put sunblock on.."

Tony swallowed hard again.

"_Uh, yeah, okay. You go decide what island and hotel and make the reservations, I'll take care _

_of things on my end. Then we'll meet somewhere in the middle."_

"Mmm, I _**love **__meeting you in the middle. Every chance I can..."_

_**Join me tomorrow for the conclusion of 'Messin' With their Heads, or Binkey's Revenge.'**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Okay, so maybe I went off a little half-cocked on writing this – but honestly it DID feel really good writing it! I don't expect the trolls to read it, but I let off some steam and figured my other writer friends would get a charge out of it, as I'm pretty sure they have all had their moments of lunacy regarding flamers. And as far as being intimidated by the rabid trolls, I will continue to write about Tim and any other character when the muse moves me, as every fan fic writer should – it's what this site is entirely about! I have always written whatever and whenever I wanted, and always will, much to Velveteen Habit's chagrin. She told me this is what I got for writing a Tim story instead of finishing my next Refuge chapter. She's pro'ly right. She usually is.**_

_**On a more serious note – I'd like to thank all those wonderful reviewers who came to my defense, it was a wonderful thing. And I have to wonder if the folks who left the rotten reviews don't also post nasty emails about their fellow schoolmates/employees, as they feel so free to post them for a story was not even intended as any sort of a slight to Tim. I think tomorrow's ep will shed light on a not so stellar childhood fraught with fear of failure that probably made Tim nervous to the point of being sick, and that some of his punishments were not suited to the crime, as were probably Tony's. I think that he WILL have a lot more in common with Tony than many people think, except for Tony.**_

_**To the guest who suggested a read of cracked corn's McSticks and Stones, I had read it when it first came out, but I went back and re-read it just for the joy of it. Ohh, what a fine piece of fan fic that is...**_

_**Not beta'd – probably no one would put their name on it anyways...**_

_It was a dark and stormy night, and Tim McGee could not for the life of him figure out why he had been called to a small, private dockside by Tony when he could see no evidence of even his team mates, much less a crime that had been committed. He so hoped he wouldn't have to board one of the boats, but maybe that was better than standing out in the driving wind and rain. His phone rang, and he fumbled for it with cold, wet fingers. It was Tony, he was to meet him at slip 24 and board the boat, Gibbs and the rest of them would be there shortly. _

_McGee counted the slip posts and numbers, and found that number 24 was a nice little sail boat, similar to what Gibbs had built in the past, but a tad bigger. He climbed the plank and boarded, chugging down a heave of his dinner as the boat lurched in the choppy waves of the inlet. Searching and calling for Tony while all the while trying not to hurl, he never noticed the boat being disengaged from the dock, and start heading down the river._

_He never did locate his partner, and felt a ripple of panic run through him when he got the definite feeling that the boat was in motion, and not just from the storm. He ran to the wheelhouse, but the door was locked, and when he screamed at anyone who might listen, no one answered. What the hell was going on? Where was he going, and who was captaining the yacht? It lurched again and he felt his throat fill with the PBJ he'd hurriedly wolfed down thinking he probably wouldn't get breakfast at the usual time with Gibbs running the show._

_In the bridge, the smiling captain munched on a BLT wrap loaded with mayo, not a bit bothered by the rocking of the waves. He had taken a good dose of Dramamine, and was ready for the swells. He kept to the coast line as much as possible, knowing full well that he wasn't a seasoned pilot, but he knew enough from his summer camp and boarding school sailing days, and what his boss had taught him about sailing in stormy weather. Life was full of storms, and if you didn't learn how to navigate them,_

_you were sunk._

_Tim found that the only way he could manage to calm down and not make street pizza, as DiNozzo was so fond of calling it, was to park himself on the cabin couch and stick his head between his legs, taking deep, gulping breaths. A good thing it was, too, that Tony wasn't there to see him in his misery, although he did admit he could have used the man's abrasive company to distract him, **and **the man's stoic demeanor in the face of adversity to help him think this through logically. What the hell was he thinking, **he **was the logical thinker, not Tony. DiNozzo's mind ran the gamut between ass and zombie, how he managed to get where he had gotten would continue to be a mystery to the wise and well-schooled Timothy McGee._

_However...this was soooo not good. If only he had his Samsung Galaxy with him..._

_Tim wasn't too sure how much time had passed before he had the feeling that the boat wasn't moving in the water other than being buffeted by waves. He made his way to the deck on unsteady legs, and found that, miracle of miracles, they were back to the shore, and he strained his eyes against the dark to try to make out some sort of landmark or sign of a civilized being that would let him in to call for help. His phone had been useless on the yacht, and that had frustrated him even more – they weren't **that **far out to sea that it should have made a bit of difference. _

_When his eyes had adjusted some, he scanned the entire shoreline, and his hopes soared as he spotted the light of some sort of lamps shining through windows of a cottage. But how to get to shore? How deep was the water there? Were there rocks? Sharks? Dobermans? He felt a figure looming behind him, and his neck hair stood on end. It was like when Gibbs appeared out of nowhere, and he couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through him. What if he had boarded the wrong boat, and his boss was waiting for him at the crime scene, waiting, waiting, to appear behind him with a deadly scowl._

_He froze where he stood, not wanting to give the \stranger any reason to strike out at him, but the tall _

_figure merely slipped past him without a word, and dropped the plank to shore, then stood there waiting, wordlessly. Tim felt like he was in some horror novel, and the way the figure moved, even in the dark, seemed familiar to him, but he moved nonetheless, hurriedly so, and didn't stop moving until he was well away from the mysterious vessel. Perhaps the captain had now just realized he had a stowaway, and was too annoyed with him to exchange pleasantries._

_Fighting his way through the thick brush and shrubs, he stopped to get his bearings, and found that he was on the edge of a clearing, the back yard to the cottage he had been seeking. Thank God. His clothes were torn and mud covered, and Tim could only wonder what was bleeding beneath them. How long had it been since he'd had his last tetanus shot? He would have to ask Ducky about one, there was no way **Tim **would be the one sitting around unable to fight back, with his jaw locked shut while DiNozzo taunted him unmercifully. Tony would eat sandwiches and subs in front of him from their favorite bistro, then top them off with slices of carrot cake or cannolis, grinning madly at him the entire time._

_He stepped a tentative foot into the yard, and not setting off any audible alarms, made his way determinedly to the door. Again, the hackles on his neck rose, and it was too late to compute in his head that he had been sniffed out and spotted by two very large Rots roaming freely on their turf._

_Fight or flight was a ridiculous equation at the present moment. Stand still and try to defend himself and they would shred him alive. Run and try to get to the door before them, and they would still shred him alive. He ran, diving into the unlocked door just as one of them grabbed the back of his boot and pants leg. Thanks to Tony, Tim had a momentary thought to the principle from Ferris Bueller, Mr. Rooney, crawling through the doggie door and...Gee-zus. Freaking freak of a partner, making him think of something like that at a time like this. He slammed the door on his ankle, painfully wedging it, but hoping for the best to get that damned hound from hell off his boot. It worked, and he slammed it shut the rest of the way, gulping in terrified breaths as he regrouped and looked around for the homeowner._

"_Well. I'll be damned." came a familiar voice off to the side of him. Why did that voice sound so familiar, and also send more waves of terror through him, more fearful than even the Rotter dogs._

"_Timothy McGee – Chuckie extraordinaire." a sultry voice wafted over to him. "I was just up to get a midnight snack, but I may just exchange the calories for something else."_

_'Oh. My. God. Of all the cottages in all the world, why did I have to step into hers?' And good God, there was another movie reference. But oh how true._

"_D – Diane, I – how, why..."_

"Our summer cottage, Timmy. But Victor's out of town for a conference, it's just little old me here."

"Huh. Well, could I use your phone, I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of situation, and..."

"Of course, where are my manners, come on in, don't mind your shoes, Victor drags in all sorts of crap from the beach. And take off those filthy clothes, I'll toss them out and get you something of Victor's. Looks to me like you're both about the same size, but I'd have to see **all **of you to really know."

"Erb...uh...well, can't I just go to your -er, powder room and you leave them outside the door for me?"

"Timothy, you're covered in mud, and there's blood on your clothes, and that stupid dog probably did some damage, too, it'll have to be checked out. I used to be a doctor's assistant, I'll take **very **good care of you." 

_She smiled at him, a pleased and predatory look that spoke of dangerous things, perhaps even future death at the hands of both Gibbs and Tobias Fornell when **they **got their hands on him._

"_Well, uhb, you know, if it's all the same to you, I'll just call Tony or Gibbs and have them come get me, I really don't want to be any bother."_

"Ohhh, honestly, Timmy, you're **no** bother, Victor's been away for over a week, and well..while the cat's away.."

McGee gulped so loudly he thought they might have heard him in Norfolk. Where he wished he still was, at the moment.

"_Take your pick, Chuckie. Me, or the Rottweilers."_

McGee had to think hard about it for several long seconds. Bolting out the door, they probably **did **hear him screaming in Norfolk as he ran for his life from dog and panther, and although he surprised the dogs and managed to outrun them, he didn't stop long enough to get his bearing before he tumbled straight off the steep cliff that he had scrambled up to get to the cottage. It was quick and painless, a broken neck, and fishermen spotted him from their boat later that morning. His team was sad – they really did like Timmy, though some thought that they, especially Tony, were inordinately mean to him and expected impossible things from him. But they had functioned without him before, and they would learn to again. A memorial was set up in his name for a new foundation, The PROBIE Institute, which would specialize in the Prevention of Rude and Outrageous Behavior in Educating junior agents. Their first task was to invent a non-corrosive compound that removed super glue from human skin.

_Life continued on, and Gibbs even named his current boat after the guy, and Abby found solace in Sean from Cyber Crimes. He even loved to bowl, and he was just as good as Tim was in cyber forensics, and he had even gone to Carnegie Melon **and **had a dual law degree from Harvard and..well, she liked him, and that was that._

_**Back to a beach in the Barbados...(say THAT fast 3 times!)**_

"_Wowser, sweetie, that was..." she sniffed, but it was actually from a sneeze that was tickling her nose and never materialized. "That was..pretty damned funny! And he never knew it was you in the bridge?"_

"Not a clue. I didn't have any aftershave or scent on, and I dressed all in black. A true black ops op.

_So, what're you ordering for dinner, I'm famished?"_

"Already ordered, Julio is bringing it out to the terrace. Crab legs, seafood platter, salad, fettuccine alfredo- then a chocolate dessert tray. That should hold us till bedtime."

"Mmmm, wonderful." he squeezed her against him again. "So, you're really not going to bring Timmy back to life again with any of your fics?"

"Oh, of course I will, when the flames die down and I get a good plot bunny. Shame I had to kill him off, didn't have a thing against him other than liking you better. The worst thing of it is? The flamers were no better than what they accuse **you **of being to Tim – arrogant bullies who have no right to dictate to others what to write or how to feel. I know this won't change anything in the long run, but it sure felt goood! Maybe by the time we get home with our extra pounds and dark tans, Tim will be alive and back at work again. I really don't want to have to write about Diane Gibbs Fornell Sterling any more than I have to."

"Yeah. It was pretty gruesome even to plot, gave me the willies. But still, it worked, I think. Just don't tell Gibbs or Toby, or they'll kill Timmy all over again."


End file.
